


meet me in the afterglow

by Ethereally



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Closure, Gen, M/M, Past Character Death, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rodrigue Has Rights, dream fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22812913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally
Summary: The man facing them has blue eyes and a familiar half-smile. His mother winks.“Your father is dead? You can say that to his face.”In lieu of his attendance at Sylvain and Felix's real wedding, Rodrigue's spirit pays Felix a visit in a dream.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 105
Collections: Felix Birthday Week 2020





	meet me in the afterglow

He's dreaming. This is the only explanation. Felix is alone at a small table in the centre of a banquet hall, gaping at the faceless, nameless crowd laughing and chatting around him. And even if they are conversing in the language of Fódlan, they may as well be speaking in tongues he barely understands-- he can only catch every third word or so, picking out phrases like "long engagement" and "the living Gautier son".

Felix glances around, wondering if his fiancé might be close by. He can picture it in his mind's eye: Sylvain, dressed in his favorite black coat with gold trimmings, chatting the crowd up with a smile and a wink. Bold and radiant, commanding attention with a practiced warmth that Felix could never hope to muster. He doesn't envy Sylvain for why he'd had to conjure his mask, but charm is a weapon all in its own: one that Felix himself sorely lacks. And much as he doesn't care for niceties and banquets and fancy balls, for a moment Felix wonders if he should try and locate Sylvain in the crowd. It might give him context for how and why his mind's eye conjured _this_.

He gets up from his seat, brushing against a woman in a Srengi high-collared dress. She turns a faceless head towards him, and a mouth surfaces from her pale skin, twisting into a sinister smile. Felix stumbles back, grabbing at his hilt for his sword, but it isn't there. He's not wearing anything remotely combat-ready, for one, no. He is dressed in red silken robes, with the left side folded over the right with a gold floral trim. It's wedding wear, which he's only seen in portraits, like the one of his parents that had hung in the parlor of Fraldarius Castle before he'd left for war, which his mother had ordered taken down before Felix returned as the new Duke.

 _He's_ getting married.

A chill runs through Felix. The beating of his heart gets so loud he can hear it ring in his ears, and desperately, almost pathetically, he calls into the crowd. “Sylvain?” he yells. He has to be marrying Sylvain, right? People had certainly talked when Duke Fraldarius had announced that he and the future Margrave Gautier were to unite their territories, saying something about passing down Crests-- but from the moment Felix had decided he was a boy at age ten, it wasn't as though he considered himself bound to any social conventions. Besides, he is the Duke Fraldarius. Unless Dimitri tells him otherwise, this is his land, which means that he can do whatever he wants. Nevertheless, the old fear of being forced into a role he was never made for grabs hold of his heart, and an awful, wrenching feeling creeps through him, enough to make his breath stop short. His next cry is wanting, panicked. “Sylvain!”

_This is a dream. Pull yourself together!_

Felix's last bastion of rationality hollers out to him, but he can't bear to listen. All he can think of is Sylvain, _Sylvain_ , and whether or not he's going to be the person waiting for Felix on the other side. And much as he'd be embarrassed to admit otherwise, Felix brushes through the crowd, calling Sylvain's name out with increasing urgency, occasionally peppering his speech with choice phrases like _that fool_ and _where the hell is he_. His fingernails dig so deeply into his palms that he can feel the indents, and he feels his voice hitch in his throat as he screams for his fiancé once more. Much as Sylvain had been a philanderer back in their younger days, Felix isn't sure that he's quite ready for marriage himself, and if there's someone here who knows what's going on, it has to be Sylvain, doesn't it?

A quick tap on his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

Felix whirls around to see the slight visage of his mother. Even with the heeled shoes she is wearing, she only comes up to his shoulder, but there is a tilt to her smile, and a certain sharpness in her eyes that commands a presence. It's a look he can't recall having seen on her since Glenn's death. Lady Kellyn Bianca Fraldarius had turned into a ghost of her previous self, eating meals separately from him and his father, putting down the sword in favor of a mourning shroud. He heard the sounds of his mother sobbing every time he tiptoed past her room, and there'd been multiple occasions where he'd stupidly, foolishly, snarled at her to just _get over it_. She'd been slightly less reclusive after his initial return from the Officer's Academy, and sometimes joins him and Sylvain for meals now that they're no longer at war, but this is the first time he has seen her dressed up in years. She's wearing a maroon silk dress and dark red lipstick, and she's stunning. People always tell Felix he gets his looks from her.

Everyone handles grief differently now, he realizes. And if it takes his wedding, or even a wedding in a dream, to bring his mother back to her old self, perhaps this isn't so much of a nightmare after all. She reaches out to adjust Felix's collar, clicking her tongue.

“You're presentable, at least. That will have to do.”

Her barbed words are welcome. She hasn't spoken to Felix like this in a very long while. A strained sensation tugs in Felix's chest, and he fights back the urge to grab his mother and ask where this version of her went-- if she still exists, or if she died with Glenn in Duscur so many years ago. There is a time and place for that, but it is not now. He swallows the words, unfurling his fist.

“Who am I marrying?” he blurts out.

His mother raises a brow. “I'd hope you knew who you're engaged to, you fool.”

Felix feels the knot in his brow unravel. _Thank the Goddess_ , he thinks, even if he would never speak that out loud. “What's happening?” he asks, glancing around furtively. For a moment, it feels like how things were before the Tragedy of Duscur-- Felix, young and vulnerable, turning to his mother or brother or childhood friends for advice. Many of these guiding lights have been put out, now, but new ones shine brightly in his life. Felix isn't afraid to rely on Sylvain or Ingrid (and even Dimitri, sometimes), but the Professor and his old housemates have proven to be reliable allies too. Nevertheless, this feels familiar, sending a warm sort of nostalgia hurtling through Felix, one that he so wishes he was above. “Where is he?”

His mother sighs. She reaches up, smoothing down the choppy layers in Felix's hair. “There's someone else here who I'd like you to meet, first.”

“And who might that be?”

His family has never been one for physical contact or niceties; nevertheless, his mother gently takes his hand. It's strange, but Felix can't say he hasn't secretly yearned for it for a long, long time. “You'll see,” she says, beginning to weave through the crowd. His dream people part for his mother the way they refused to for him, clearing a path for the both of them towards a room in the back. Now Felix has more context, it's easier to appreciate the detail his mind has somehow painted. The red wall hangings scrawled with a foreign script, the paper lanterns lit with candlelight-- it's a world of his creation, but there's something ominous about it, as though he's built a bridge that is soon to fall apart. His mother laughs to herself (when was the last time he'd heard her laugh?), beginning to hum a soft tune, like she used to while playing the piano in the parlor after dinner. Felix squints.

“You're singing.”

Sylvain frequently jokes that Felix enjoys stating the obvious.

“Perhaps I am,” she says, turning around to face him, and there's that glimmer dancing in her eyes again, familiar and electrifying. “It's a joyous occasion for me. Who'd have thought _you_ would find someone?”

“Are you done chastising me yet?” he sputters out. “I'm no longer a child.”

She laughs again. They are standing by a large wooden door, and his mother has conjured a key out of nowhere, fumbling at the lock. “Tch, you'll always be one to me. And to your father.”

“My father is dead,” Felix says without thinking. If he had been anyone else, he might have gasped, holding his hand to his mouth. Instead, regret hits Felix square in the chest, and he freezes in his tracks, studying his mother's expression. It remains unchanged. That makes this even more unsettling. Instead, she unlocks the door, pushing it open with a grand gesture. The door opens to reveal a long hallway with a teal carpet, and a pair of red chairs at the end of it with a tea table perched in front of them. Felix gasps with horror when he realizes that one of the chairs is occupied. The man who sits in it has blue eyes and a familiar half-smile, and seeing him is enough to invoke a strange mixture of panic, grief and joy within Felix. His mother just winks.

“Your father is dead? You can say that to his face.”

Rodrigue Achilles Fraldarius sits at the end of the hallway. His hands are folded in his lap, and the glint in his eyes is prouder than ever.

Felix whips around, turning to face his mother. “What is the meaning of this?” he begins, before realizing that she is gone, vanished into the background as though she took a step back into mist. A ghost of her previous self, like she is in the waking world.

He turns back around, eyes meeting his father's. There is a wrenching sensation in his chest, an unholy combination of joy and grief that he's only felt once before. It was more than a year ago, when he returned to Garreg Mach for the five-year reunion only to see Dimitri alive and well.

Only his father isn't alive. He knows this. Felix watched him die just months after that reunion, taking a wound to the chest meant for the King himself. It wasn't the first time someone in Felix's family had thrown himself into the line of fire for the royal family. He hadn't even had the opportunity to say goodbye as his father passed-- to be the one to close his eyes, and lay him to rest along with the thousands of other soldiers who had died at war. Felix spent that night with Sylvain and Ingrid, holding his father's hand while sobbing over his corpse. The warmth of Sylvain's embrace had been all that tided him through that long, awful night, and Felix had silently cursed the words he'd left unsaid as he apologized to his father, over and over again.

And here they are now, locked into a shared, silent gaze. The wooden door slams shut behind Felix, but he doesn't protest. It feels right, somehow, that his father should be staring down at Felix from his chair in the distance, the very visage of Duke Fraldarius looking down at his people from a high, unreachable throne. This is a view that Felix has seen one time too often when all he needed was his _dad_. It doesn't change the fact that his voice shakes when he finally musters up the words to say.

“W-- what are you doing here?”

“I'm here to see my son get married. Why else would I be here?”

Rodrigue smiles down at Felix, and a warm sensation washes over him, even if he hates to admit it. When he was a child, Felix would have fought so, so hard to know that one of those smiles was because of him, and Felix shudders when he realizes that that desire never really went away. He grits his teeth, partly to steel himself for what might come next, but mostly to force back the sobs that will inevitably spill from his throat if he speaks any more.

Luckily for Felix, his father has always been better at words.

“Come closer to me, won't you? I'd like to take a better look at you.”

His father looks like he did on the day before he died: hands folded in his lap, genial smile ever-present. Tentatively, Felix takes a few slow steps towards his father. But in a dream, there's no point being deliberate, no facade of restraint that he truly needs to maintain. And with that thought, Felix begins to sprint up towards his father, tears spilling from his eyes like fountains. Felix pushes past the tea table towards the chairs and throws his arms around his father, and surprisingly, his father hugs him back, his grip stronger and colder than Felix would ever have imagined. He is not normally one for physical touch, and after a few moments, Felix decides he's had enough. He pulls away, eyes still brimming with tears.

“Y- you... You're not here to taunt me, are you?” It's a baseless accusation, but a small part of Felix still can't wrap his head around the idea that his father would show up for him, even as a manifestation of ill-handled grief.

His father laughs, gesturing towards the tea table that Felix has knocked askew. There's a tiny, wooden tea tray on top of it, along with a teapot and two small, handleless porcelain cups. Felix isn't sure that he'd noticed them before.

“Won't you pour your old man some tea?”

Felix has only been to a wedding tea ceremony twice before. Once, when his uncle had taken a second wife, and another time, when one of his aunts was marrying a lady from House Rowe. It was supposedly long-standing Fraldarius tradition; Felix at age thirteen had declared it “long-standing Fraldarius bullshit.” Yet when his father's eyes meet his, he finds it difficult to spit back a “no”. Felix will have to do this with his family when he eventually marries Sylvain, and he's not sure that this is a part of his heritage that he wishes to protest. He's spent so long fighting tooth and nail against Faerghan ideals that this in itself seems trivial.

Sylvain and both their families should rightfully be here for this ceremony, but Felix isn't about to head back into the strange, faceless crowd to search for a man who might not be there. Especially because he could come back to this chamber to find his father suddenly gone: just like he'd left him in the real world. Felix gets down on both his knees, gingerly picking up the teapot from where it sits. The faint whiff of bergamot fills the air-- Sylvain's favorite. With as much gentleness as he can muster, Felix begins to pour the tea, filling both cups even though his mother is absent from the scene. Even if she isn't present in this strange limbo between life and death, Felix can't help but feel like he should honor her as well. It feels right.

Trust his father to interrupt his train of thought.

“The Gautier boy, huh?” Rodrigue leans against one of the armrests of the wooden chair, tapping his chin.

Felix flushes. “What about him?” he drawls. Felix sets the teapot back down on the table. He's always wondered what his father might say about his choice in partners. His father had always raised an eyebrow at the younger Gautier son's skirt-chasing exploits, and Sylvain (and Felix's letters complaining about him) hadn't done much to assuage him.

A tiny smile quirks the edge of his father's lips.

“You've always held a candle for him. I remember you following Sylvain and His Majesty as a small child, just like a little duck. I should hardly be surprised.”

Felix shifts from knee to knee, watching steam rise from the piping hot teacups.

“What do you mean?” He is most certainly a brilliant shade of pink. His father laughs again, crow's feet wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. Felix isn't sure that he ever saw him laugh this much in life, especially not in the last few years. The war had taken its toll on all of them, and had sucked so much life and youth out of Felix and his friends: he hadn't spared a moment to think about what it could have done to his own father. Guilt stabs through Felix, and he averts his father's gaze as he offers one of the tiny teacups to him, still kneeling. His father takes it from him, bringing the cup to his lips.

“This is the part where I'm supposed to offer you a red envelope. I don't suppose you'd be willing to take an offering from the dead?”

Even if Felix has been thinking about it the whole time, the sudden reminder of his father's mortality causes him to tense.

“If you have something to say, spit it out. You didn't come here to chit-chat about my love life.”

The words come out far harsher than Felix intends. Ingrid has always said that Felix has a knack for making the best possible points in the worst possible manner, which is exactly why nobody will listen to anything he has to say. For a split second, Felix wonders if she's right. The rational part of him feels like he should get up and apologize-- his legs are starting to tingle from kneeling for so long. Yet Felix remains where he's kneeling, the words hanging in the air between the two of them, the tension in the air so thick you couldn't slice it with one of Zoltan's famed swords.

His father sets his tea down on a wooden table next to his seat.

“I didn't intend to die that day, you know. It was a great honor to die for the Ki--”

A pang of hurt surges through Felix. “ _No_ ,” Felix spits, “If you came all the way here just to give me another lecture about chivalry--”

His father raises his hand in protest. “Please, allow me to finish. What I meant to say is this, Felix. It was a great honor to die for the King, and I don't regret it for a moment, but I didn't _want_ to die. I came here to make sure you knew.”

Felix continues staring at the ground in response. For once, he doesn't have a snide retort; he mulls over his father's words as he continues to speak.

“Your mother already lost a son. I didn't wish for her to lose her husband as well. And _you_ \--” Felix finally looks up, eyes wide with shock-- “You lost Glenn when you were both far too young. I can't begin to imagine the hurt you bore for years because of that, and then to lose your father to battle as well, that must have been...” His father is practically shaking at this point.

“Felix, I came here to apologize for dying. To tell you that I would rather have remained to see you grow older. To clear your mind before you married Sylvain. Is that an adequate answer to your question?”

Felix's gaze is transfixed on his father, wondering if his father is about to morph into a trickster spirit or a mocking beast. What has death done to him? This can scarcely be a fantasy that Felix cooked up. For years Felix had carried an insurmountable rage towards his dad, lashing out in spite and anger, and now his father has finally apologized to him... A stinging feeling springs to Felix's eyes, and he realizes with a jolt that he doesn't know what to do with it. Come to think of it, he's not certain he ever needed his father to apologize at all.

Felix's knees are almost completely numb at this point. He gets up from where he's kneeling, bending over to massage his calves. This is almost certainly against all Fraldarius tradition, but so is knowing when to say the words _'I'm sorry'_. Him and his father are one for one. Finally, he settles on the right thing to say.

“You're a fool.”

The righteous thing to do would be to throw his father's words back at him, and tell him that he shouldn't have to apologize at all, but a small, selfish part of Felix can't help but appreciate the sentiment. A better man would not be wrenching bittersweetness out of what his father had just said. The petulant child in Felix is warmed, just knowing his father misses both him and his mother too. He buries his face in his hands, and for once in his life, Felix takes some time to mull over his next words.

“At least... At least take pride in your actions. You can't take dying back.”

Felix would know, from how he'd begged and pleaded with his family's healers to raise Glenn from the dead. He stands up straight, and without a sword or pockets to toy with, Felix isn't quite sure what to do with his hands. He settles for folding his arms, and the stinging feeling in his eyes intensifies as his father smiles back sadly at him.

“If you worry for my restless spirit, be assured that I am very much at peace. Glenn is waiting with me for you too, you know. And so are your grandparents, and their ancestors before that. I'm hardly alone in the world of the dead.”

Curiosity gets the better of Felix, despite himself. “What's that like?” he begins, but his father raises a finger to his lips.

“Let's pray you don't join us here too soon, shall we? Glenn's happy for you, by the way, but he had some choice words about your decision in Sylvain--”

Felix blushes again. “My love life is not up for discussion.”

“I'll make sure to let Glenn know,” his father says, though Felix has a feeling that this sentiment will not be passed on. His father reaches out for the small teacup, picking it up and frowning when he notices there is no more tea inside. He turns back around to face Felix, folding his hands in his lap. “He didn't leave us-- leave _you_ \-- by choice either. Nobody wishes to die too young, even if it's what's right. That's something they don't tell you about chivalry.”

Felix is numb all over. Not just from the kneeling, but from the weight of his father's words; there's no denying it at this point that tears have sprung to his eyes. He stands there in silence, the last few minutes replaying over and over in his mind, the enormity of everything his father just said finally starting to sink in. On some level, he must have always known that he was loved as much as Glenn: the family home was just as warm for both of them, even if Felix always felt like he could never stand up against his brother's light. He swallows the lump in his throat, raising a hand to his face, wiping tears away. His father grabs his free hand.

“I said many awful things to you when Glenn passed. I know you never forgave me in life. Felix, will you find it within yourself to forgive me now?”

The correct thing to say is _yes_. To tell his father that everything is going to be okay, that he can pass on knowing that Felix will no longer bear the heavy specter of a grudge. Yet even with his father's spirit pleading in front of him, Felix can't bring himself to say the words. Glenn's shadow weighed on Felix for years after his death, and continues to haunt him even years later, and his father was such a large part of that-- all of that can scarcely be erased overnight. Finally, Felix settles on an answer. He takes a step closer towards his father, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I-- I love you. I'm sorry, too.”

He doesn't have to forgive someone to love them deeply. Dimitri and his father have both taught him that.

Tears still stream down Felix's eyes, and he chokes out a strained sob. His father pulls him in closer, and Felix continues to blabber on. “I, too... I too have said many things that you should not forgive,” Felix grips his father's arm tightly. “I remember striking you with a wooden sword as a child--”

“Did you?” his father asks, gently stroking his hair. “When was this?”

“I--” Felix's breath hitches in his throat. Of _course_ his father wouldn't remember-- he'd been so young then. “It doesn't matter, does it?”

His father shakes his head. “It only matters to me now that you're here. Felix, I missed you.”

“Mmm,” Felix mutters, resting his face in the crook of his father's neck. He may well be seven years old again, whining and clinging to his father like he is the source of the world's light. His father may not be infallible like he'd once believed-- Rodrigue Achilles Fraldarius was not a perfect man in life, nor a perfect father, but he'd tried his best with Felix. And sometimes, it takes a dream to realize that can be enough.

His father continues to rub his back as Felix cries into his shoulder. There Felix sits, continuing to sob, repeating _I love you, I love you, I love you_ while he still can, till he awakens by Sylvain's side in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HxbqAsppwU). this was a very personal piece based on some dreams that i had, so i hope you liked it. 
> 
> special thanks to [nena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nenalata) for proofreading, and kelly and [bia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biapendragon) for all your help. felix's mom is for both of you (; 
> 
> i'm trying to be a little less afraid of connecting my social media presence to my fanwork, so if you wanna say hi on twitter i'm at @gautired. just be warned that it's a multiship hellscape and i also love claude, annette, marianne and ingrid a lot! 
> 
> happy birthday felix, have some sweet sweet closure.


End file.
